Kill the Spider
by Cranky Crocus
Summary: Rosethorn is ashamed of her pure and loving heart. Lark is called to help her understand that being loving is not the worst thing that could happen. RosethornLark. Just another study in character.


"I killed a spider," Rosethorn announced as she entered Lark's bedroom. The woman was sitting on her bed in a thin nightgown with a book resting upon her knee. She looked up and cocked a brow.

"Are congratulations in order?" she retorted as her lips formed a slow smile.

The green mage's currently harsh eyes bore into Lark's own.

"No," she snapped. They stared at one another until the thread mage sighed and closed the book on a small section of silk ribbon. She took her time in placing it on the night stand, rearranging herself into a cross-legged seating position, and patting the bed next to her.

"No, I suppose not. Come in."

Rosethorn nodded and walked in out of the large center room of the cottage into Lark's small sleeping quarters. The woman shut the door behind her. When she turned again she tightened the robe she wore. Lark noted that her skin was pink as if it had been recently scrubbed and her hair was wet. The situation unfolded all the more.

"You were showering," Lark began.

"And as I stepped in I spotted the spider," the younger woman continued. Despite her words she held herself stiffly as she sat; she was a grown woman ashamed of her fear. "My gut clenched."

"And you…?" the dark-skinned female pressed gently.

"First I just bathed looking at it, only glancing at the sandscrub to be sure I didn't drop it into the water. I was afraid the spider would fall from the wall because of the humidity."

"Did it?"

"No. It kept crawling up and down, sometimes appearing as if it would plummet soon. I flinched every time and scolded myself immediately following. At last I couldn't take it any more; I cupped water in my hands and shot splashes of water at it," Rosethorn continued. "I hit it often and sometimes it curled up in a ball as if dead. I panicked every time. I didn't know what was worse, imaging showering with a live spider or killing it."

"But you didn't kill it. What happened?" Lark asked gently. She was the only one who ever saw this side of Rosethorn, as far as she was aware. Anyone would assume that Rosethorn was fully capable of mashing a spider into a green, gutsy pulp the way she rattled off threats as if they were prepositions. It was true that that _was_ Rosethorn, but there was something deeper than that. The soft parts of her that she hid behind the thorns. Lark nourished those parts.

"Finally I was so close to killing it that I couldn't do it any more. I scrambled out of the bath, grabbed a towel, and picked up the spider. I was careful not to squeeze it too hard so that when I let it go outside it would be alive. It was," the chest-nut haired woman said as she looked down at her clenched fist. "I went back to bathing and tried to rub off the shame of guilt with my towel. Here I am."

Lark waited. She knew there was more.

"I can't even kill a pathetic little spider."

More.

"I'm pathetic."

There. Lark pounced figuratively, and didn't fail to put her arms around the shorter woman.

"You're not pathetic, Rosie. As much as you think a big kind heart is the downfall of humanity, it isn't," Lark remarked as she rocked Rosethorn back and forth. The woman glared her 'I'm not a child' glare and Lark ceased. "You're fine. You hide it behind wonderfully sculpted thorns and prickles. No one knows but me."

"What if that isn't enough? What if I want to be able to kill a spider without this guilt eating away at me? I've killed full-grown men and women in self defense, yet I can't kill an innocent spider that scares me in a shower," the woman went on. She was glaring at the wall, but Lark knew that if Rosethorn could have glared at herself she would be taking that up instead.

"Do you want to kill a spider?" Lark inquired quietly, barely above a whisper. Rosethorn didn't speak, only clenched her jaws and fists.

"No."

"Is it about the spider, really?"

Pause.

"No."

"Are you really pathetic, Rosethorn?"

Long pause.

"No."

Lark grinned mischievously. "Are you sick of my treating you like a baby goat?"

"Mila yes!" the comforted woman answered immediately. The ex-tumbler's grin widened until Rosethorn was looking at her suspiciously. "I do believe that was the true, honest answer."

"I have no doubt of that," Lark responded. "I'm just not sure if tickling goes under childish behavior or foreplay."

"Maybe I can be a kid for a spot longer," Rosethorn answered seriously. After a few seconds her eyes caught a spark and her face morphed from the blankness she was trying steadily to hold to one of held-back laughter. Lark literally pounced.

After much tumbling and laughing, the two found themselves under the covers with random fits of giggles emanating from their lips.

"Rosethorn?"

"If it has anything to do with spiders, I'll hang you from the ceiling with the sheets."

"Never, my darling," Lark assured with a playful quality to her voice. "I had motherly advice."

"In that case, if it's bad I'll asphyxiate you with the crumpled up pages of your book," the redhead remarked.

"You sure are inventive this evening. No, no. I'm merely speaking to point out that you shouldn't rub so at your skin: it's not healthy," Lark finished at last.

"Are you complaining about the texture of my skin? Not soft enough for you?" Rosethorn questioned the dark. The two were smiling and both knew it. Lark laughed.

"Oh no, my love. As soft as the sheets you're going to hang me with."


End file.
